


Let's use 'em up 'till every little piece is gone

by LiviKate



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Friends to Lovers, Language Kink, M/M, Otabek speaks lots of languages, Polyglot Otabek, Yuri is into it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 23:03:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13534410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiviKate/pseuds/LiviKate
Summary: Yuri didn’t know what this feeling was. But he knew he liked it and didn’t want it to go away.Or, in which Yuri learns a lot from Otabek; both in love and languageOr, a terrible misuse of Google Translate





	Let's use 'em up 'till every little piece is gone

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this isn't more developed. Sorry this isn't a new chapter of [Mischievous Friends](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9783203/chapters/21974162). But fam, I've got a lot going on. Trying to get into grad school is stressful. So here, have this thing that I've been thinking about for a long time. And props to [ Eve](http://archiveofourown.org/users/seaworn/pseuds/seaworn) for talking this out with me over tumblr months ago. 
> 
> Title from Tove Lo's Talking Body, of course.

Cowering in an alley was not his most heroic moment. That didn’t mean he needed to be saved by some dark knight; he didn’t care what the media and fangirls said. He wasn’t a fairy, he was a goddamn soldier.

But when Otabek pulled up and barked “get on,” in perfectly accented Russian, Yuri did it.

Later, at the café, after they were rudely interrupted by his Japanese entourage, Otabek quieted down. The group got larger and larger and Yuri couldn’t help feeling that all these skaters came from all parts of the world just to ruin his not-date. Otabek wasn’t particularly verbose when it was just he and Yuri, but he’d still answered any questions Yuri had posed and had laughed in that gorgeous rumbling tone that Yuri was starting to get obsessed with. But now that their table was rapidly filling up with loud and obnoxious skaters, Otabek had quieted down into interview-levels of engagement.

Yuri wondered if Otabek didn’t have great English. His interviews were mostly sharp nods or shakes of the head and his coach speaking for him, but the few social media updates he did were written in English, so he must have a little. Or a good translator. Either way, Yuri tried to make a small space for the two of them inside the now-busy café by making snide comments under his breath in Russian, leaning in close to catch Otabek’s quietly murmured replies. Yuri tried to fight the shudders that started at the nape of his neck when the rough and brusque Russian syllables fell from his new friend’s lips, so close to his ear sometimes that it ruffled his hair.

Yuri didn’t know what this feeling was. But he knew he liked it and didn’t want it to go away.

 

 

It was during a Skype call over the off-season that first Yuri heard Otabek speak in Kazakh. He’d been scolding his younger sister, before arguing with his younger brother and mother, switching seamlessly between Russian for Yuri and Kazakh for them. The smoky tones and unfamiliar words of his native tongue had him leaning closer to the screen. Even when Otabek got up from his chair, grimacing a short apology to Yuri before exiting the screen, Yuri stayed raptly attentive, turning up the volume on his computer to catch the now distant voices. When Otabek returned, it was to a close up of the side of Yuri’s face and lots of golden hair.

“Yura?” he asked, a hint of laughter in his voice.

“I like when you speak Kazakh,” Yuri said, leaning back with a faux casual smirk. The smoke of the language made Yuri’s cheeks pink.

“I was yelling at Zina for jumping on my bed,” Otabek said with a quirked brow, laughing at him.

“Yeah, but it sounded cool,” Yuri said flippantly, biting his lip to keep him from calling it sexy. Otabek didn’t like him like that. It had only been a few months that they’d known each other. They’d only seen each other in person once.

“I could teach you a few things,” Otabek offered, shrugging.

 _‘I bet you could,’_ Yuri thought with a smirk. He held it in though. Otabek had been an amazing friend. He wanted to keep him around, no matter what. Besides, he’d never dated before, barely kissed anyone before, he didn’t even know what he wanted. All he knew was that seeing Otabek on his screen made his heart beat faster.

“I’m a quick learner,” Yuri said, sitting up straighter on his bed. “Show me what you’ve got.” If Otabek’s cheeks got a little pink too, maybe it was just Yuri’s imagination.

 

 

It was a year later, in Marseille, Otabek was waiting to meet him in the airport. Yuri dropped all of his expensive luggage, ignoring an affronted yelp from Viktor, and launched himself into his arms. Yuri had grown, now a head taller than his friend, and he wrapped his long and gangly legs around his waist laughing loudly in his ear. Otabek hugged him back, and Yuri had forgotten how good the vibration of his chest felt up close.

“Fuck, I missed you,” Yuri admitted, sighing against the short hair of his undercut.

“I missed you, too, kitten,” Otabek murmured in low Russian. Yuri eventually untangled himself to plant his heavy boots back on the floor.

Yuri had to ball his hands up and shove them deep into his pockets to resist from reaching out for him again; perhaps to hold his hand. Viktor made the temptation easier to resist when he tossed his luggage at him. Beka, ever the gentleman, grabbed it from him anyway, with a tiny smile.

Leaving the airport, Yuri tried his best to ignore the cooing couple behind them. Otabek was happy to follow his lead, speaking quietly just for him as they waited for their bags. When Yuri had his larger bag in hand again, he turned to leave, hand slipping into the crook of his friend’s elbow to direct him towards the door. Otabek hesitated, though, looking back over his shoulder with a plain expression. He turned around and saw Viktor and his fiancé attempting to converse with an employee. Katsudon’s bag was sitting at his feet, but Viktor, who always packed way too heavily, was short one suitcase, and the baggage carousel was empty, spinning without any new luggage spitting down on it.

“Hold on,” Otabek said, squeezing his hand between his arm and his side, stopping him without pulling away. “Let’s see if they need help.”

“C’mon, nerds, we’re trying to go,” Yuri shouted to them, waving his free arm impatiently.

“My special bag isn’t here!” Viktor protested mournfully. “I need that bag.”

“Why is it so special?” Yuri huffed as he and Otabek walked back over to the pair and the airport worker.

“It has all my underwear in it,” Viktor whispered dramatically, though Yuri was very sure that the employee didn’t speak Russian.

“Why do you have a bag just for underwear?” Yuri asked, red racing up to his hairline.

“I need variety, Yurio. And costumes,” Viktor said out of the corner of his mouth. “You know, for intimate moments. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Yuri released a choked, scream-yelp sound of pure indignation and frustration and embarrassment.

“What we need to do,” Katsudon said in his still stuttering Russian, “is get this nice young man,” he smiled at the employee patiently waiting, though beginning to look very bored, “to help us find the missing bag. But we don’t have enough French and he doesn’t have enough English to communicate the problem.”

“I can ask,” Otabek said quietly, before turning to the French worker. Before Yuri could think to follow up with a question, smooth syllables rolled from Otabek’s mouth like a waterfall. It was impossible to differentiate one word from the next, but the worker’s face immediately brightened with recognition and answered. Like upending a bottle of fine wine and hearing it bubble fluidly out, French filled the space between them as Otabek calmly spoke with the attendant. Before long, the employee was cheerfully turning around and heading off.

“He’s going to check with the ground workers, see if your bag got tossed onto another cart,” Otabek said easily, shrugging his with hands casually slipped into his pockets.

“Wonderful!” Viktor exclaimed. “Otabek, you’re French is so good, where did you study?”

“Canada,” he answered nonchalantly. “I had a French coach as well,” he smirked at Yuri, almost imperceptibly but still his eager eyes caught it. “That’s who I learned all the swear words from.”

The giggle that popped out of Yuri’s mouth was hideously embarrassing, sounding like a tittering schoolboy, immature and smitten. He blushed and scowled when Viktor and Katsu laughed as well.

“That’s cool, I guess,” Yuri said, trying to cover his red face with his hair. “You should teach me them sometimes.”

“You know enough swear words as it is,” Katsu said. “Teaching you Japanese was a terrible mistake. You only remembered the words I never should’ve told you.”

“It’s hard not to, when I hear them through the walls all night,” Yuri groused meanly and Katsu blushed a brilliant red.

“Yura was the same with Kazakh,” Otabek said casually, hands in his pockets, looking out at the slow moving crowd of people around them. It seemed to take him a moment to notice the dumbstruck silence of the rest of his companions. He looked back calmly, before seemingly taking in their shocked and appalled faces, and Yuri’s furious expression.

“I mean, with the swear words,” Otabek said, a small crack in his voice the only thing betraying his embarrassment. “Not the… other part…”

Viktor tossed his head back and cackled while Katsu stuttered out some warning about safety and discretion.

Yuri wanted to die.

He stormed off, shouting swear words in every language he knew just to put Viktor’s smug face behind him.

His hackles soothed a little though, when Otabek caught up with him and slowed him down with an arm around his waist, pulling him into his side and syncing up their steps. Yuri slung his arm around his shoulders and used glaring at the older couple behind them as an excuse to smell Otabek’s hair.

By the time their cab pulled up, Yuri was busy plotting ways to destroy the other bed in the hotel room so Otabek would have to share with him.

 

It was two and a half years after they’d first met and Otabek was spending a month in St. Petersburg with him, training and sight-seeing and working on his music. Otabek was a homebody, a loner. He didn’t really like going out to new places and he especially didn’t like talking to new people. And that suited Yuri fine. In the short times that he was able to capture with the older boy, he wanted to selfishly treasure every moment, not share them with anyone else.

This was the first visit Otabek had made where he stayed in Yuri’s new apartment. Yuri’s apartment where he lived alone. No more Grandpa telling them to quiet down so he could sleep and waking them up early for breakfast. No more Viktor telling them to keep the door open or Katsu handing him a box of condoms with a clear attitude of “don’t ask don’t tell.”

No, now it was just the two of them. For a month. In Yuri’s small but cozy one bedroom apartment.

And an international, Olympic-grade athlete could hardly be expected to sleep on a couch for a month. So they shared Yuri’s bed. And it made things… weird.

Not bad weird, great weird. But the kind of weird nonetheless where Yuri was the happiest and most anxious he’d ever been at the same time in his whole life. Waking up with his back pressed against Otabek’s back, Otabek’s cold toes tucked in under the meat of his calves, his dark hair stuck to the walls of Yuri’s shower, it was all so… amazing. And terrible. Amazing because it was everything Yuri had ever allowed himself to want with the older boy, and terrible because he had no idea how to talk about any of it.

How does one say “I love the way you frown in the morning and the way you cook pasta and the way your ass feels pressed against my dick when we accidently start spooning,” without overstepping some very important bounds of friendship? Not that Yuri wanted to be forever constricted by those bounds, but he didn’t know how to ask Otabek if he wanted to cross them without trampling all over them. There was no easy way to ask someone if they wanted to be more than friends without clearly and desperately indicating that you’ve spent at least the last year imagining what it would be like to be more than friends.

Everyday was a picture book of domestic bliss and yet inside Yuri was being clogged by this cognitive gridlock. He knew what he wanted. He just didn’t know how to get it, didn’t know what magic words would grant him all of his wishes.

Which was how Yuri came to be staring insistently at the side of Otabek’s face as they sat on the couch together. It was one of those painfully beautiful domestic moments in which they weren’t doing anything at all that remotely included the other, but they were doing it in close proximity, because it always felt better to be near one another than a room apart. At least, that’s what Yuri told him when he finally got bored of scrolling through instagram and got caught up in staring at his best friend while he worked.

Without looking up from his screen, Otabek moved one thick headphone away from his ear to press against the back of his head.

“Can I help you?” he asked blandly, hands back on his keyboard, attention on the mix he was making. Yuri flushed slightly at having been so obvious.

“Nah,” he huffed, before going back to his phone. The silent peace lasted for perhaps ten more minutes before Yuri released a heavy sigh at the injustices the world had dealt him by offering him such an obnoxiously attractive friend.

“Bored?” Otabek asked, finally looking over to him.

“Yeah,” Yuri groaned, stretching himself out on the couch, popping his back and probably making it look like he had one hundred chins as he slouched deeper into the cushions.

“Could go on a run,” Otabek suggested.

“Feet hurt.”

“Yoga?”

“My butt’s sore,” Yuri grumbled, remembering the difficult quad that had been evading him lately. Otabek quirked an eyebrow at him, lips pressed into a tight line as he clearly resisted the joke to be made there. Yuri kicked at him, smiling anyway. “Shut up,” he said, because Otabek’s thoughts were written over his face so obviously he might as well have spoken them.

“Wanna listen to what I’m working on?” Otabek asked, and perhaps the older boy didn’t know how incredibly transparent his emotions were to Yuri at this point in there friendship, because try as he might to look casual, Yuri could tell he was nervous.

“This the big set you’ve been designing?” Yuri asked, sitting up straighter, wanting to be a good supporter and friend. He didn’t know much about composition, but he knew this project had been on Otabek’s mind for a long time.

“No, this is different,” Otabek said quietly, fiddling with the cord of his headphones uncharacteristically. “This has been more important lately.”

“Okay,” Yuri said seriously, nodding encouragingly when Otabek glanced at him nervously. “Let me hear it.”

Otabek unplugged his headphones from his computer, mumbling a quiet apology for the quality of the speakers, and started the song from the beginning.

Yuri’s brow creased when he realized the words weren’t in Russia. Or English. Or Kazakh, for all he could tell. They were more melodious, more liquid, but not French.

“Is this in Spanish?” he asked, face puckering in confusion.

“Yeah. It’s supposed to be a pretty slow, acoustic song, but I’ve been working with it,” Otabek said, lowly, nodding his head to his beat while still pulling at the hair tie around his wrists.

“How come?” Yuri asked.

“I like what he’s saying,” Otabek divulged. “It feels… important. I don’t know.”

“You speak Spanish?” Yuri asked, blinking in utter disbelief that they had met in Spain and yet he had never heard Otabek speak Spanish. Otabek nodded. “How?” Yuri asked, watching Otabek’s face as he mouthed along to the words.

“The US, Leo,” Otabek said distractedly.

“Huh,” Yuri huffed, trying to count the languages he knew. He’d started picking up Japanese from Katsu in the last couple years. Yuri was amazed by his acquisition ability. “So, what’s it about?”

Otabek cleared his throat, turning his gaze to Yuri’s with determination, reaching out to rest a hand on his knee. Yuri sat up straighter, sensing a shift in the tone of the afternoon.

“The artist is singing about how he knows that a single kiss from this person would change his whole life.”

Yuri swallowed hard around the lump in his throat, enraptured by the earnest look in his friend’s eye. His heart started pounding with the sudden air of seriousness filling the space between them.

" _Un beso significa amistad, sexo y amor,_ ” Otabek murmured. Drawn in by the rumbling notes of his low, serious voice, Yuri slid closer to him on the couch, eyes watching his mouth move around foreign sounds, idly wondering if he were hallucinating. “ _Por un beso de su boca, Voy al cielo y hablo con Dios._ ”

“What does that mean?” Yuri asked, unbothered by the fact that his voice was quiet and breathy. He licked his lips.

“A kiss means friendship, sex, love,” Otabek translated and Yuri was so fixated on his mouth that he didn’t see the hand coming up to cup his cheek. At the contact, he jolted, tearing his gaze up to meet Otabek’s. His eyes were dark and darting all over his face, watching the younger boy carefully. Yuri was powerless to do anything but lean in. Otabek’s next words brushed over his lips. “From a kiss from your mouth, I’m going to heaven, I speak with God.”

The whispered words fell into Yuri’s mouth and shivered all the way down his spine as Otabek followed them with a kiss. His hand was gentle on the side of his face, his kiss careful and delicate, setting a tone of care and love. But when his tongue slid easily over Yuri’s bottom lip, Yuri couldn’t help but respond with desperation.

A cracked groan pushed from his chest as he wrapped his fingers around the back of Otabek’s head, leaning into the kiss like he could dissolve into it.

“Fuck, Yura,” Otabek groaned, letting his arms loop around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer.

“I didn’t know how to say it,” Yuri gasped when Otabek drug his lips down his jaw.

“Me neither,” he confessed to the hollow under his ear.

“You did,” Yuri whispered. “Perfectly.”

 

 

Yuri learned in the next coming days that Otabek was also fluent in the language of skin and spit and sweat and sex. He learned a whole new language in gasps and groans, reading the intricacies of another’s body by listening to the delicious sounds he made. It was sometimes awkward and often overwhelming but it was always indescribably good.

Until now.

Yuri pressed his face against the pillow to keep the whimper in, his spine a long line of tension beaded with cold sweat as Otabek slowly pressed inside.

“Just relax,” Otabek soothed, stroking his hands over his hips.

“I’m trying,” Yuri bit out snappishly. “It fucking hurts.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Otabek murmured immediately, leaning down to press kisses into the cold groove of his spine. “We can stop whenever you want.”

“No,” Yuri sighed, pushing up onto his elbows, trying to make a better angle. “I want it.” He remembered when Otabek touched his prostate for the first time, and the slippery strange feeling of fingers pushing into him turned fiery and amazing, and Yuri’s nervous laughter and dissolved into jawbreaking moans. He wanted more of that.

“What do you need?” Otabek asked, thrusting in just the smallest amount and pulling out again, setting up a rhythm without pushing in too deeply.

“I don’t know.” He’d never felt like this before. He needed to relax. He hung his head between his arms. “Can you just talk to me?”

“Of course, my beauty, you look so good like this,” Otabek began immediately. Though he was typically reticent and reserved, Yuri had found that Otabek had an unbelievably capacity for the most filthy language he had ever heard when in the bedroom. “I thought your ass could never look better, but now it’s got bruises all over it and teeth marks and my dick spreading you open, fuck, Yura, I’ve never seen anything this beautiful.” Otabek leaned over him, careful hands on his hips making sure he didn’t shift too far into him as he pressed his mouth against his shoulders. The angle changed enough for Yuri to let out a slight sigh, loosening a little around the intrusion. He felt Otabek’s grateful exhale float over his skin as he sunk another inch deeper.

“In Kazakh,” Yuri gasped, willing himself not to flex around the dick, hands clenching and releasing in the bedsheets.

“Мен сізде болуды қалаймын,” Otabek murmured, teeth ggrazing his neck. “Әрқашан.” Yuri didn’t know what it meant but he knew it sounded soft and warm. Then Otabek pressed his forehead hard against his neck, hips stuttering as he kept from pushing in. “Өте ыстық,” he gasped. “You’re so fucking hot inside, Yura,” he confessed in Russian with a gutteral groan.

“Okay, give me a little more,” Yuri gasped, breathing deep and exhaling slowly as Otabek pushed.

“Tu te débrouilles si bien,” Otabek said comfortingly, pressing kisses into his hair. One hand left his hip to scrape the blond strands away from one side of his face, exposing his ear to his partner’s breath. “Si serré.” A shiver ran down Yuri’s spine and for the first time in a few long minutes, it didn’t end in pain.

“More,” he demanded, beginning to shift his hips in tiny, hesitant motions.

“Berete to tak dobře,” Otabek groaned in a language Yuri didn’t recognize. “Ty jsi pro to byl vyroben. You were made for it,” Otabek finished in Russian and Yuri moaned, finally pushing back far enough to feel the press of Otabek’s hips against his ass, his cock nearly fully seated inside him. The satisfaction of taking it all almost made up for the fissures of pain radiating up from his hips as his muscles strained. Yuri let out a moan as he shifted his hips just right, his dick beginning to fill again as he moved himself carefully over Otabek’s cock, trying to make himself feel good.

“Mierda, no puedo pensar cuando eres así,” Otabek whined, pressing sloppy kisses to Yuri’s throat and jaw, arms coming to wrap desperately around his waist as his body shook above him.

“Okay, okay,” Yuri gasped, blowing a strand of hair out of his mouth. “It’s definitely sexy when you do that,” he panted. “But now I need you to talk to me in something that I can understand.”

“ _No worries, baby,”_ Otabek said in English. “ _I know exactly what you need. Let Daddy take care of you.”_ Yuri’s whole body tensed and he was doused in cold water, arousal draining so rapidly it left him light headed.

“Um,” Yuri said, tilting his head. He must’ve heard that wrong.

“ _Your tiny little pussy is just begging for cock, isn’t that right?”_ Otabek continued and Yuri almost retched.

“Stop, oh my god, Stop,” Yuri shouted, scrambling away ignoring the horrible slide of Otabek’s dick being pushed out of him. “What the fuck was that?” he asked, immediately spinning around on his knees to face his partner, who was also kneeling on the bed, looking completely shocked.

“What was what?”

“You’re English!” Yuri shouted, arms in the air. “It’s horrible!”

“ _I have great English,”_ Otabek protested, confused and shocked.

“You sound like JJ! _”_ Yuri screeched, hand fluttering out to cover Otabek’s mouth so he couldn’t do it anymore. “You sound like JJ had a baby with a frat boy from Minnesota.” Otabek’s mouth opened in protest under Yuri’s palms but he didn’t relent. “No, please God, never do that again. That hurt me far more deeply than your dick ever would. If you ever start sounding like that Canadian hillbilly in my bed every again I will buy you a plane ticket before you ever finish putting your pants on.”

Now Otabek was just frowning fiercely at him. Yuri scooted forward on his knees, staring at him earnestly.

“It was that bad,” he said seriously. Otabek rolled his eyes and grabbed his wrists, dragging his hands away from his face, fully unveiling his look of disappointment.

“ _I don’t know what you’re talking about,_ ” Otabek said and Yuri’s mind boggled.

“ _Did you just say a-boot?”_ He asked, switching to English to appropriately express his distress. “ _What the bloody hell kind of word is that? I mean for fucks sake, you sound like a nutter.”_

Otabek just blinked at him.

“ _Why do you sound like the fucking queen of England?”_ he said with an entirely straight face, like he honestly thought “about” was pronounced like the back of a fucking car.

“ _Because I learned proper English,”_ Yuri exclaimed, shoving his partner in the chest. “ _Who the hell taught you?”_

 _“Oh, I’m so sorry,”_ Otabek said, crossing his arms. _“Sorry I was an immigrant at a young age with no guidance.”_

“Stop, stop, it’s getting worse,” Yuri said, reverting to Russian as giggles began to disrupt his speech. Otabek said ‘sorry’ like there were one hundred O’s in the word. “It’s not sexy, it’s horrifying.”

Otabek was still frowning fiercely, sitting on his heels with his arms crossed in a full pout.

“Leo made fun of it, too,” he sighed, shoulders curving in as he deflated with apparent hurt. “That’s more than half the reason I learned Spanish.” Yuri made a valiant attempt to swallow the rest of his laughter as he scooted back across the bed to pull his partner into a comforting hug.

“It was just really shocking, I’ve never heard your English before. I hate it,” Yuri said, holding Otabek against him when he tried to squirm away peevishly. The mood was broken and Yuri was pretty sure they were both uninterested in finishing what they started.

“It’s not that bad,” Otabek protested, his cheeks dusting pink with his embarrassment.

“It is, it really is,” Yuri assured him, tugging him in closer. “You need to get a speech coach immediately. If you’d spoken to me in English when we first met, we would not even be friends, let alone boyfriends.”

“Oh, come on,” Otabek groaned. “That’s not true. You fucking love me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Yuri soothed him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head as he coaxed his partner into his lap. “I love you, you nerd.” Otabek sighed against him, nuzzling his blushing face into his neck, letting their thighs press together and his arms loop around his naked waist. Yuri hummed happily to have him near again; he’d been getting cold. Otabek nipped playfully at his collarbone, prompting a squeeze from Yuri before he ducked his nose into the hair behind his ear. “But I’m really glad you speak Russian,” Yuri murmured.

“ _Oh, fuck off.”_

Yuri fell backwards onto the bed, crackling with laughter as Otabek chased him down with his tickling hands. He squirmed and wiggled away, in an effort to escape the onslaught, but Otabek’s weight pinning down his legs held him in place. Otabek’s laugh, that he first fell in love with, was still the same.

**Author's Note:**

> All the foreign language is Google Translated filth. I checked the Spanish and am 80% sure that's right, but everything else is just what google said. So, sorry if it's wrong.
> 
> Leave a comment or kudos if you liked it!


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